


Presence

by etacanis



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etacanis/pseuds/etacanis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're civilians now and adults too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Presence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrecookies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrecookies/gifts).



> Written for my bb Nadia as a the least festive Christmas present ever ♥ Ilu Nadiaaa.

There'd been a moment in Iraq, the two of them ensconced in an office with Ray quiet and Walt still lost in himself. They'd taken the first moment they found, stolen away for a second of peace, a minute without the looks from people - that special Marine brand of not quite pity.

"Jesus, Walt, " Ray had said in a puff of shitty Iraqi smoke and then Walt had kissed him.

He'd expected to be punched, he'd expected to be pushed away at least, but he wasn't, he was kissed back, Ray's calloused hands wrapped tight to his jaw.

 

He wakes up when Ray gets out of bed and catches his food on the end table. He stumbles, fails to muffle a _fuck_ and his knee thuds against the floor.

"Morning," Walt murmurs, reaches out to nudge his knuckles against the spurs of Ray's shoulder. Ray blinks, stares up at him, eyes squinting and sleepy, gunk built up in the corners of them. "Good sleep?" he asks, as Ray gets to his feet ( _ungainly, like Bambi, Walt thinks, but doesn't say it_ ). Ray's shadow falls over him, a hand rests on his hip through the covers and there's a brief touch of lips, neither of them awake enough, neither of them particularly willing to get a mouth full of morning breath.

"No," Ray says, blunt as ever, fingers thudding a rhythm, but he's grinning, lazy and sleepy and happy as he pulls away. "Get up, Walt, I want some breakfast."

They learn to live around each other. Ray's sweet tooth ( _three sugars in his coffee but he says two, ice cream is an appropriate breakfast but pancakes are better_ ) filling the fridge alongside Walt's savoury, ridiculous action movies alongside ridiculous chick flicks ( _the ones Ray watches because they're funny, he says_ ), two halves of the wardrobe, one with jeans and band tees, one with plaid shirts and cargo pants.

They stay awake together at night because Iraq plays behind their eyelids and what was fine and normal then is horrifying, nightmares in five second memories now. They smoke cigarettes that smell like mint for the unfamiliarity, drink fancy coffees because they can ( _they're civilians now, and adults too, they should drink expensive coffee_ ).

Walt wakes most days to an empty bed ( _Ray never wanted the night shift, so he took five in the morning to two in the afternoon instead, and doesn't listen when Walt points out that that is, in fact, practically a night shift_ ) and letters written along his skin - **buy milk** on his spine, **you were snoring** on his clavicle, a dick on his cheek and **you should always be naked, homes** on his thigh - and the door locked three times.

Walt falls in love with it, with the notes and the shitty beer in the fridge and Ray crowing at sappy romances. He falls in love with someone who understands, someone who listens and someone who knows when enough is enough.

Walt falls in love, but he doesn't fall in love with Ray, and that's what hurts. His heart swells at breakfast, at two in the morning when Ray's murmuring under his breath and tapping out a song on Walt's ribs and _he's in love, he's in love, this is what people write songs about and make shitty movies about and this is what wedding vows are for_ but then he looks at Ray and he thinks _I like you and you're my best friend_ and he never thinks _I love you_.

Ray mouths it against his skin, I love you in the shape of kisses, I really fucking love you left in hickeys on Walt's chest, and Walt just smiles and nods and lets his heart swell and just holds on and hopes.

_(He hopes and he hopes and he hopes because Ray deserves better because he's **Ray** and he's Ray so Walt won't fucking let go)._


End file.
